


to break like waves

by Ias



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Cunnilingus, Dom/sub Undertones, Dominance, F/F, Insubordination, Power Dynamics, Power Play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-19
Updated: 2015-12-19
Packaged: 2018-05-07 16:57:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5464073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ias/pseuds/Ias
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tauriel is defiant. Galadriel endeavors to teach her a lesson in obedience.</p>
            </blockquote>





	to break like waves

**Author's Note:**

  * For [adeclanfan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/adeclanfan/gifts).



There may have been much to ask for in the secluded Woodland Realm, but a good feast was not one of them. Tauriel reflected that there was not much her people seemed to be more fond of than hearty food and heady drink. Yet at tonight’s feast, something was different—though the guards and common Elves ate their usual courses of meat, the high table was graced by an unusual amount of greenery. The different fare was scarcely the most notable thing at the table.

Many strangers sat on either side of King Thranduil, their faces fixed with bland, unreadable smiles as they ate. Looks and speculations were cast on them from the lower tables, surreptitiously at first, and then less so. Tauriel herself found her eyes wandering back again and again, particularly to a golden-haired woman who sat directly to Thranduil’s right. Something about her was distinctly off-putting, from the cool set of her smile to the distance reserve in her eyes. She hung over the feast like the moon, well aware of her lofty altitude over Tauriel’s lower brethren. Tauriel had seen such attitudes before. They set her jaw in a grimace.

“And what about you, Tauriel?” Galion’s voice pulled her from her thoughts. The smile he cast across the table had much more in common with a smirk. “What do you think about our prestigious visitors from the West?”

Tauriel stuffed a chunk of meat into her mouth and took her time in chewing it. To her irritation, Galion waited for her to finish. “Soft,” she said at last, skewering another piece of food with vigor. The memory of the woman made her less than charitable. “They’re all gentle smiles and sad eyes, and songs about people and places long dead. It’s a wonder they’ve survived this long.”

A grim chuckle was heard up and down the table—Tauriel made no effort to lower her voice. The mocking twist to Galion’s lips had slackened somewhat at that, but not for the reasons Tauriel might have hoped.

“You should take care, Tauriel,” he said. “They are much more powerful than they look.”

“Ah, she’s merely sore over the golden one at the high table,” one of the guards said with a laugh. “I saw her staring.”

The glare Tauriel shot him strangled it in his throat. “You should know by now that pretty maidens of no use whatsoever are hardly my type.”

“That’s the fun part!” another guard cried. “Rescuing sweet maids from dire peril—there’s no finer feeling.”

Tauriel allowed herself a rueful smile. “I have no interest in a damsel, in or out of distress.”

“That’s not what you said to Lilieth, the way she tells it.” The bone that Tauriel chucked at his forehead cut his own laughter quite short.

“The woman is quite fair,” Galion observed offhandedly as he raised a cup to his lips. His eyes were on the high table—Tauriel’s followed them. The golden-haired woman in question certainly was that, and so much more. A light seemed to pour off her, pale and cold as starlight. The longer Tauriel looked, the more she felt as if she were gazing up into the night sky—with the same creeping terror that she might somehow fall up into it. It reminded her of the rush before a battle, the sense of great danger rushing towards her as a challenge she would meet. She looked away, her heart pounding uncomfortably in her chest.

“She hardly looks capable of swinging a sword,” Tauriel said dismissively, struggling to reign her emotions under control. “I call that weakness, not beauty.”

Before long the conversation had moved on to speculation about the reason for their new guests’ visit, and stories about the Eldar which Tauriel did not listen to. Her eyes were inevitably drawn back to the woman at the table. At once, Tauriel found her gaze met with steely blue. For the light and softness that surrounded them, the woman’s eyes were as hard and ancient as a snowless mountain range, grey daggers rising against a stark blue sky. Tauriel found herself caught and held by them, a speck drowning in an unforgiving landscape.

 _Well-met, Captain._ The voice rang like an echo among ancient stones, like thunder untouchable by mortal flesh, sounding only in Tauriel’s mind.

And then the woman looked away, and Tauriel’s eyes dropped to the wood of the table before her and hunkered there. She felt like a mouse released from the talons of an eagle. Had the woman heard her callous remarks? Most disconcerting of all, Tauriel’s final impression before the Elven lady released her was the tiny, mysterious smile that spread over her lips. What it meant, or what it hearkened to, Tauriel did not say.

Anger sparked, that this soft creature would dare to make her feel so small. Tauriel was a huntress, fleet and deadly in knife and arrow, and she had power this delicate Elf could not contend with.

She was quiet for the remainder of the feast. But ever was she aware of the lingering remnants of the woman’s gaze, which settled over her like a shroud she couldn’t seem to dislodge.

 

 

 

The air in the caverns was cool the next morning as Tauriel and the rest of her guard stood before the throne of the king. Their patrol duties had been increased since the arrival of their visitors—best to keep the forests safe lest their Western cousins find a warmer welcome from the spiders. Thranduil gave his orders with the quickness of practice—Tauriel was just beginning to file out with the rest of her party when Thranduil’s voice held her up short.

“Tauriel.” Her king’s voice stopped her steps short, as little as she liked to remain. When he held her back it was hardly ever for a reason she would find favorable.

She turned back to Thranduil, made a second, warier bow. “My King?” she said with a touch of impatience. The forest called. She wished to lose herself in its pounding heart.

Thranduil stared down at her for a long moment, seeming to weigh her in his gaze like she was little more than a sack of vegetables. She bore it with as much patience as could be expected—that was to say, very little. She did not like it when Thranduil looked at her like that. It usually meant he was going to ask something of her.

At long last, he roused himself. “I have a special assignment for you,” he said. “Undoubtedly you have noted the presence of our guests in my halls.”

“Yes,” Tauriel said, letting the word past her teeth as carefully as she might step around a trap hidden in the leaves. “What of them?”

Thranduil did not comment on her lack of decorum. Undoubtedly he expected there was worse to come. “The Lady Galadriel has requested a guide to show her the full beauty of the palace. The duty will fall to you.”

Tauriel stared at him blankly, suddenly certain that this was some preposterous joke that Galion had somehow managed to rope their king into. Thranduil did not crack a smile. Neither did Tauriel.

“You wish the captain of your guard to play wet-nurse to some foolish Elf-maid from the West?” she said blankly. Saying the words aloud did not seem to make them any more real. It was ridiculous. It couldn’t be.

Thranduil’s eyes flashed at her impetuousness, but still he did not reprimand her. “I expect you to be a gracious host to our esteemed guests. You know these halls better than most. I believe you will make an excellent guide.”

“I have more important things to do,” Tauriel snapped. “Send Galion. Or Feren. Or any of the numerous members of your court that would be much better equipped to simpering at a noble lady than I.”

“I have not chosen Feren or Galion,” Thranduil said, infuriating in his placidity. “I have chosen you.”

Tauriel opened her mouth, a thousand complaints and demands and insults jostling to be released first. At once, she found herself bereft of words. She could see it plainly on Thranduil’s face: he would not budge. The unfairness of the situation crashed over her like she was once again a chastised child.

“But _why_ have you chosen me?” Tauriel cried.

“Because I requested it.” Tauriel flinched at the sound of the new voice from behind her. When she turned, none other than the Lady Galadriel herself was stepping up onto the royal dais. Tauriel had not so much as heard the woman’s footsteps gliding on the walkways. That realization was uncomfortable. The woman held Tauriel’s gaze, as cool and placid as the surface of the Long Lake in early morning, but Tauriel recognized a challenge when she saw one. Yet this woman was no fighter, it seemed plain enough—what challenge could she be offering? Tauriel looked away, discomforted by her own uncertainty.

“Very well,” she said stiffly. Thranduil did not smile, but she saw in his eyes the slightest twinge of amusement. Tauriel turned back to Galadriel and inclined her head. “I am at your disposal, my lady.” The title grated over Tauriel’s tongue. Galadriel was not her lady, any more than Tauriel was her servant. But for today, it seemed they would both be playing a role. Galadriel was the only one who looked likely to be pleased by it. 

 

 

 

“…And here you have yet another view of underwater river,” Tauriel said, making no effort to disguise her boredom. Her guest—or was it ‘pest’?—was infuriatingly quiet. She was attentive to what Tauriel told her, which was mostly information that would interest only a guard on patrol. Galadriel asked few questions and let Tauriel do most of the talking. Tauriel, for her part, had not removed her armor for her day playing tour guide. She knew she would be hot and uncomfortable for most of the day, but it was worth it for the gesture alone. She was Captain of the Guard. She was not meant to be here, and she wanted Galadriel to know it.

Turning back to Galadriel from the rushing water before them, Tauriel straightened up. “I’m afraid that’s where my knowledge comes to an end,” she said. “If you wish to see more of the palace, I suggest you find a different Elf.” 

The woman’s eyes were wandering around the cavern, mild curiosity evident in the slight smile on her lips. She did not acknowledge Tauriel’s words. “It has always seemed strange to me, living so far underground,” she said in that low, hypnotic voice of hers. She turned to Tauriel and her eyes seemed to slice straight through her. “Do you not miss the sky?” 

Even after spending so many hours in the woman’s presence, her eyes were still utterly captivating. Tauriel cleared her throat. “My duties ensure I spend much of my time outside as it is, Lady Galadriel.”

“I understand that the forests are not as safe as they once were.”

Tauriel scoffed in spite of herself. “Dangerous for gentle ladies such as yourself, I am sure.”

In the resounding echo of her words Tauriel immediately realized she should not have spoken. The look Galadriel gave her pieced through her as swiftly and sharply as an arrow through a leather jerkin. “Strange. I do not believe I have ever been called ‘gentle’ before.”

Perhaps Tauriel should have given a hasty apology, hurried to correct the slight she had given—but the thought of bowing and scraping set her teeth on edge. Instead, she merely shrugged. “I meant nothing by it, my lady.”

“And if I asked you to bring me to the forest outside, with all its reputed dangers?”

Tauriel looked at her sharply. “I would refuse to put you at risk in such a way.”

“And what if I demanded it?”

Tauriel paused, the same anger she felt at seeing the woman’s distant superiority at the banquet table returning. She knew she was being tested, like a child learning its letters. She did not appreciate such condescension. “With due respect, Lady Galadriel,” she said coldly, “I do not owe my allegiance to you, and do not need to follow your orders.”

Galadriel tilted her head. Tauriel was held by her gaze, and felt as if every piece of herself was being passed through a sieve. Whatever Galadriel found, she seemed to find it amusing. A slow smile spread over her lips. “Do you find me beautiful, Captain?”

The question was so unexpected and blunt that Tauriel was almost thrown off balance. She thought carefully before answering, though the answer was clear enough in her own mind. “There are many who say you are the fairest of all Elves.”

“I did not ask what others have said. I asked of you, and you alone.”

Tauriel swallowed. She did not trust her throat with a response. Instead, she merely nodded.

Galadriel leaned back in her chair, inspecting Tauriel contemplatively. Tauriel remembered the whispers that surrounded the Lady of Lothlorien, the tales of what she saw in the hearts and eyes of those around her. Tauriel did not know what she might see inside of her now. “And yet it is not beauty which you respect.”

Tauriel hesitated, on uncertain ground now. “Beautiful things are meant to be protected.”

“I see,” Galadriel said. “Then you prefer your women to be fragile and delicate, kept in a glass cage for you to admire them as you will?”

“No, of course I don’t—that isn’t what I meant,” Tauriel floundered, her face coloring with embarrassment and anger by the instant. She realized too late she had not so much as denied Galadriel’s implication about her preferences for women. Perhaps that had been Galadriel’s intention all along. “Do not twist my words on themselves,” Tauriel said

Galadriel smiled, an expression Tauriel wanted to tear off her face. “You seem more than capable of doing that yourself.”

“Do not speak to me as if I were a child!” Tauriel snapped. Her anger, rarely “You think you are my better, because you speak in mysteries and wear no feeling on your face?”

“I have never suggested that I am your better,” Galadriel said. “Do you think it is so?”

Tauriel drew herself up and raised her chin. When she spoke, her voice was hard and clear once more. Her words rung with a challenge. “I think you are much weaker than you would have me and my kind believe.”  

Galadriel stared at her. There was none of the faintly restrained anger Tauriel had seen in Thranduil’s face when she disobeyed him—nor the faint hurt that always glinted in Legolas’s eyes. As always, the faint, infuriating smile remained sealed on Galadriel’s lips. Above it, her eyes were inscrutable. Yet somehow they made Galadriel’s smile seem more like the curve of a snake’s mouth, hiding the teeth and hunger beneath them.

 “Very well then,” she said sweetly. “Draw your sword.”

Tauriel’s hand flew to the pommel, an automatic gesture at the sudden lurch of her stomach. She would have laughed, if it were not for the expression on Galadriel’s face—faintly condescending in its soft, kind way. Yet it seemed the hall was growing closer, or perhaps just darker.  “You must be joking,” Tauriel said.

“I am not,” Galadriel replied. “If strength in combat is all you value, draw your blade and let us test it.” Tauriel stared at her without comprehension, seeing only a tall, unarmed woman whose eyes showed nothing but the weight of ages. Tauriel did nothing. Galadriel’s smile did not so much as falter, even as she stepped forward almost into Tauriel’s space. “Are you afraid of me, Captain?”

“ _Afraid_?” Tauriel laughed in disbelief, though her heart was beating hard in her chest. “What about you could possibly frighten me?”

Something changed. The world as Tauriel had known it stepped back, and in its place something else rushed in.

At once, the beautiful woman before her appeared ancient, not in form but in feeling, in the way she wore the world like a careworn cloak about her shoulders. She had not moved—she stared at Tauriel and _into_ her, her face blank and cold, and the power in her eyes gathered like the darkness far beneath the ocean’s waves where light has never been. For a moment Tauriel was in those depths with her, and Galadriel was around her and inside of her, and there was nothing else. The feeling was not unlike being grabbed by the throat, as wholly as she was in Galadriel’s power—yet the heat that had been growing in Tauriel’s stomach flared like an ember in the wind, lust and fear driven as one.

And then it was gone, leaving Tauriel stumbling backwards with a gasp as warmth flooded into her again. Her skin crackled with a charge like the winter air as she stared at Galadriel in disbelief. The air seemed to grow lighter, warmer—the shadows slunk back to their rightful places. The woman looked much as she did before—the same inscrutable smile. But this time there was a different edge to it. A suggestion of what she might have glimpsed in the corners of Tauriel’s mind—the lust that Tauriel fought so hard to control. In the face of that, Tauriel stiffened. She would not be cowed by whatever the woman saw within her. Even now, she was not afraid. “For all your beauty and supposed power, I am not beholden to you.”

Without waiting for further dismissal, Tauriel turned away. Her heart pounded in time with her footsteps as she moved, leaving Galadriel alone. Yet even as she turned out of sight, a voice rang like an echo among ancient stones, like thunder untouchable by mortal flesh, sounding only in Tauriel’s mind: _I could make you beholden to me._ Tauriel shivered, and walked on.

It was late in the evening when the messenger arrived, requesting her presence whenever convenient in none other than the Lady Galadriel’s chambers.

 

 

 

 

She arrived late, later than would have been acceptable; that too was Tauriel’s intention. If Galadriel was already abed when she arrived, surely Tauriel would be sent away and asked to return at a decent hour. The halls were quiet as she stood outside the door, wondering what lay behind it. She had some idea. She had seen it in Galadriel’s eyes, an echo of the same hunger she herself felt stirring. Tauriel could have resisted that alone. But there was a challenge in them, too. And a challenge must be met.

Tauriel knocked. The sound reverberated through the ancient wood, reminding her of the dour tone of a bell. From behind the door, she heard a deep voice respond: “Enter.”

Tauriel did so. Inside, Galadriel’s chambers were much of what Tauriel would have expected; lavish in the way of Thranduil’s people, the fixtures all carved intricate wood and smooth stone draped with carpets to try and keep the chill from the air. A doorway to the right indicated the entrance to the bedroom proper. Seeing no sign of Galadriel in the sitting room, Tauriel hesitated.

From the other room came the same voice. “Close the door.”

The door clicked closed under Tauriel’s hands. Before she could turn back and start off towards the other room, Galadriel’s voice continued: “Lock it.”

Something squirmed in the pit of Tauriel’s stomach, all her instincts standing on end like the ruff of a dog. Her fingers hesitated on the knob that would turn the intricate locks within the wood. Galadriel was not her enemy, and Tauriel was not afraid of her. Or so she told herself. She still hesitated to lock herself into a closed space with her.

As if sensing the wariness of her thoughts, Galadriel spoke again. This time there was no question as to whether it was a request or a command. “ _Now_ , Captain.”

The order set Tauriel’s teeth on edge. Any reservations she may have had were swept away by the tide of her sudden anger. She jerked the lock closed, and felt no lingering twinges of fear as she heard its mechanism slide into place.

When she entered the bedroom, Galadriel was sitting in a chair by the fire. The dress she wore was simple, thin—sheer, almost, and Tauriel immediately forced her gaze away from the hint of color beneath the pale white fabric she glimpsed under the sheen of Galadriel’s hair spilling over her breasts. Her pale, delicate wrists were resting on the arms of her chair, and with her chin tilted up to inspect Tauriel coolly it seemed she was seated on a throne.

Tauriel drew herself up. “You wished to see me—”

“I did not give you permission to speak. You will remain silent until I say otherwise.” Galadriel’s voice was so authoritative that Tauriel bit down on her words out of habit. She was immediately furious with herself for doing so—hadn’t she said before that she owed this woman nothing? Yet she could not deny the power she radiated now, the sense that Galadriel owed her nothing either and was perhaps more aware of that fact than Tauriel was. That knowledge made something curl in Tauriel’s gut, hot and uncomfortable but not entirely unwelcome. It was that which kept her mouth shut even when she would make a retort.

Galadriel smiled. Satisfied. “I suspected you were capable of obedience,” she murmured. “I saw it in you. Though of course, you do not like orders. You do not like to obey.” And wasn’t there something in Galadriel’s eyes, a shimmer like heat in the midsummer air, that made obedience seem almost tempting? For she had thought of kneeling before this woman in other ways, and if Galadriel knew the course her thoughts had run then perhaps she would not be so eager to have Tauriel alone with her now.

 _I could teach you to enjoy submission_. The voice touched Tauriel from the inside, as if a piece of herself had opened and something strange and alien had crawled out. She felt the hairs on the back of her neck rise, but she did not break Galadriel’s gaze. The challenge was still there. Tauriel was beginning to understand what was contested between them. She did not open her mouth. The words stayed in her head, yet they were as sharply defined as if she had spoken them aloud: _You could try_.

At once the smile on Galadriel’s lips became a smirk. Yet her eyes still flashed like flint striking steel.

“Remove your armor.” The command was so simply stated that for a moment Tauriel did not understand—and yet Galadriel had known, hadn’t she, how Tauriel wore her armor in the defense of more than just wounds. She wanted Tauriel cracked open and vulnerable like a snail out of its shell, to show Tauriel she had the power to reduce her in such a way. Yet Tauriel’s hands were already fumbling with the straps on her vambraces, letting them fall to the floor before working on her breastplate. There were lines of sweat where the armor had pressed into her. Galadriel waited patiently, until Tauriel’s armor was all in a pile and she wore nothing but the soft spun clothing that any palace staff might have donned. She felt bare without it, yet there was a power in that as well. A power in doing exactly what Galadriel told her to, simply because the woman dared her to. When she met the woman’s eyes again the fervor of the challenge had not dimmed in Tauriel’s at all.

A glint of genuine amusement sprung up in Galadriel’s eyes. “Do you wish to prove yourself to me, Captain?”

“I need prove nothing to you,” Tauriel retorted on instinct.

“And yet here you are, stripping your armor onto my floor simply because I told you to. Why would you do such a thing, I wonder?” From the way Galadriel’s eyes danced, she already knew. Tauriel swallowed, lust worming deeper into her—without her armor she could not hide from such feelings any more than she could hide from the probing of Galadriel’s mind. For once, she did not want to.

Galadriel’s expression was inscrutable. “Very well,” she said. “Let us test the bounds of your commitment. Disrobe.” 

The command froze Tauriel’s breath in her chest even as it sent her heart racing. She hesitated for a moment. She could turn and leave, she knew, and the woman would let her go—yet that would be failing the challenge. Tauriel thought of the cold bed she would return to, the knowledge that she would wake the next morning and think first of her failure. She thought of the warmth and pleasure she might yet find here—for a price.

Galadriel saw her hesitation, and her blank expression was touched by smug satisfaction. It was a game they were playing, after all. Galadriel was playing to win.

The anger stirred again, mingling with lust now, so that Tauriel wrenched open the straps of her jerkin with short, angry motions, shedding her clothing and tossing it aside as if she were coming home from a day spent hunting in the forest, rather than stripping in the chambers of a beautiful Elven lady. She stood naked and shivering in the night air barely warmed by the fire as Galadriel inspected her. Tauriel felt like an open flame, naked and wavering and burning from within. She made no move to cover herself.

“Well done,” Galadriel said, as one might praise a talented pet. The sound of it made Tauriel’s anger twist deeper, yet at the same time the woman’s praise settled into her with a perverse sense of pride.

Galadriel’s eyes returned to her face and did not stray to the newly revealed curves of Tauriel’s body again. “Are you afraid of me now, Captain?” she said softly. “You may answer.”

“No.” Tauriel spoke without hesitation. She was beginning to understand that Galadriel only spoke her questions aloud when she wanted Tauriel to hear her own answer. It was as if speaking it aloud made it real: no, Tauriel was not afraid of her. The trembling beneath her skin was not borne from fear.

As slow and graceful as a swan unfurling its wings, Galadriel rose to her feet. Her sheer white robes shifted over her body with every movement, clinging in places and sliding over others. Tauriel followed the movement, the sway of her hips, the swinging of her hair over her breasts. And then Galadriel was right before her, taking Tauriel’s chin in her hand with a firm grip to wrench Tauriel’s eyes back to her own.

“Impudent,” Galadriel said softly. “To look on my body in such a way.”

Tauriel licked her dry lips. “And will you teach me a lesson in respect?” she whispered, the hint of mockery clear in her voice. For a moment Galadriel’s fingers squeezed on her jaw almost painfully before they tugged away. The smile was gone from Galadriel’s face, but it had been replaced with a sense of hunger, the first taste that whetted the appetite.

“It seems I must,” she replied. “Kneel.”

Slowly, keeping her eyes on Galadriel’s face, Tauriel sank to her knees. Her fingers itched to rise and touch the softness of Galadriel’s leg beneath its robe, hanging so tantalizingly close. She resisted the urge, remaining still and compliant as Galadriel watched her. It was a strange sort of power, this giving in: knowing that she was doing exactly what Galadriel wanted of her, yet also knowing that by doing so she was rising to the challenge.

Tauriel’s own desires were becoming less and less easy to ignore, the heat pulsing between her legs with every heartbeat. She lowered her eyes to the hem of the lady’s dress, so close that Tauriel could smell the faint scent of flowers from the cloth of her dress. Or was it a perfume on her skin? Tauriel felt a shiver building at the base of her spine.

“Good,” Galadriel murmured, her hand reaching out to trail from Tauriel’s temple to the line of her jaw. Tauriel said nothing—she tried to even her breathing.

“Your heart races.” Galadriel’s fingers prodded at the skin just under Tauriel’s jaw, then slid back into her hair. A moment later Galadriel’s grip tightened, and she wrenched Tauriel’s head back by her hair until Tauriel’s eyes were held firmly by Galadriel’s gaze. “Will you question me?” she asked softly.

“No,” Tauriel gasped, her breath coming short for altogether different reasons than the unyielding grip on her hair might suggest.

“‘No, _my lady_ ,’” Galadriel corrected. “Will you ignore my orders again?”

“No—no my lady,” Tauriel said, painfully aware of the color rising to her face. Galadriel must know what she was doing to her, the hunger stirring like tongues of painless flame licking her from the inside. And if she knew, she must be enjoying it at least as much as Tauriel was.

Galadriel leaned down, until their faces were so close that Tauriel could almost feel the brush of Galadriel’s eyelashes against hers. “Say it again,” she murmured, and Tauriel could feel the breath of those words playing over her lips.

“My lady,” Tauriel whispered. A moment later she lunged forward to press a kiss to Galadriel’s mouth.

The kiss was brief, hungry, frantic, and Galadriel returned every press of tongue and scrape of teeth until it seemed they were devouring each other whole. When Galadriel pulled back her lips were reddened already, one of the few signs of Tauriel’s effect on her yet.

The fingers of Galadriel’s other hand trailed over her face, pausing over her lips. “Open your mouth,” she said. Another order, and yet Tauriel obeyed without question. The woman’s fingers slid past her lips, trailing over her tongue—Tauriel could taste her skin. She did not once break Galadriel’s gaze as she sucked at the woman’s fingers, and she could see how the sight had her coming slowly undone. Tauriel moaned around the digit, her hand straying to the wetness between her own legs—but at once, Galadriel yanked her head back by her hair. “Not yet,” she said, drawing her finger from Tauriel’s mouth.

Tauriel’s breath came out in a hiss of frustration, her eyes boring fervently into Galadriel’s—yet the grimace she wore had more in common with a challenging grin. Despite the smoothness Galadriel’s expression, it seemed even she was not unflappable. She could see Galadriel’s eyes darker, her pupils billowed out until her grey eyes were little more than a silvery rim around an infinitely dark pit. When Tauriel licked her lips again those pupils followed the motion as if they wanted to seize and devour it.

“Are you so impatient for me?” Galadriel said, her low voice rough around the edges as her hands dragged through Tauriel’s hair. The sensation sent prickles running up and down Tauriel’s spine with every tug. “You will have release only when I allow it.”

“And what must I do to earn your leave?” Tauriel, murmured, the submission in that sentiment undercut by a note of irony.

Galadriel chuckled, the sound as dark and rich as Dorwinion wine, but a good deal headier. Tauriel felt it swelling under her skin. “Please me, and I may consider it,” she whispered, so close Tauriel could feel the brush of those words on her lips yet could not lean forward to taste them.

It was the only confirmation Tauriel needed. Her hands rose to the woman’s robes, trembling ever so slightly. She pushed them apart, slowly revealing smooth, pale skin and surprisingly muscular legs. It appeared Galadriel was not so weak as she seemed. But of course, Tauriel knew that now. She kept pushing the fabric aside to the woman’s hips and held it there, revealing a pale thatch of hair at the fork of her legs. As she looked back up into Galadriel’s face, the woman smiled. Her fingers buried in Tauriel’s hair drew her face to her, and Tauriel opened her mouth and tasted the ocean.

The press of Tauriel’s tongue was rewarded by a quiet shudder that ran through Galadriel’s body. At once Galadriel lifted a leg and slung her thigh over Tauriel’s shoulder, pulling her ever closer and steadying herself with a firmer grip in Tauriel’s hair. Tauriel’s nails dug through the fabric of the dress, pressing crescent marks into Galadriel’s skin as she dragged her tongue over the parted warmth and wetness before her. At once Galadriel gathered up the dress herself, freeing Tauriel’s hands—she let them settle on the woman’s thighs, then grip them with bruising force—she was rewarded with a slow press of Galadriel’s hips, pressing harder into the ministrations of her tongue.

 _You are more skilled at submission than you know._ Galadriel’s voice echoed in her head, full of smug satisfaction. In response Tauriel let her teeth scrape over the woman’s most sensitive flesh. Galadriel was as still as stone, yet Tauriel laughed deep in her throat as the woman’s hands tightened in her hair. For all her distant reserve, it seemed even she was capable of being undone.

Galadriel kept her there for what felt like an eternity, until Tauriel’s knees were numb on the carpet and she had lost all sense of herself, where she ended and Galadriel began. There was only the movement of her hands and tongue, the warmth and silky wetness before her, the rhythm of Galadriel’s breathing and motions that her actions provoked. Tauriel ached for touch, could feel the wetness on her inner thighs and the emptiness that settled as a sharp need inside her. She knew Galadriel wanted Tauriel to come apart first, yet she thought she could hold out—but of course, Galadriel had known that too. And when her fingers shifted from Tauriel’s hair to trace the sensitive point of her ear, she could stand it no longer.

 _Galadriel,_ Tauriel thought, fighting down a whimper in the back of her throat as Galadriel’s fingers toyed with her ear. _I cannot wait, I cannot—_

At once she felt satisfaction radiating from Galadriel in waves. _Then beg for it_ , her voice whispered in Tauriel’s head. This time Tauriel could not so much as summon a flash of anger, resistance. She pressed her tongue deep into the soft wetness between Galadriel’s legs and let the words come. _Please, please, please…_

With a sharp breath Galadriel’s maddening exploration of Tauriel’s ears became a gentle caress. _Touch yourself._

Tauriel did not need to be told twice. Her hands slid between her legs, and into herself—she arched into her own touch with a cry that lost itself against Galadriel’s flesh. She was not far from her release, yet the old defiance rose—she would not be undone first. She moved her tongue in quick, clever motions, teasing as often as she gave what was asked, until even Galadriel’s reserve began to crumble, and her hips jerked forward in a rhythm that Tauriel mimicked with her fingers in herself. She drove them both to a place where authority had no bearing, where there was only the waves of blistering heat that beat down upon them both until they drowned.

Galadriel came with a low groan, her muscles clenching like a fist on the hilt of a sword. With a couple short movements of her fingers, Tauriel followed her into that sudden, desperate oblivion.

Afterwards they remained as they were, frozen in a tableau with Tauriel’s forehead resting against Galadriel’s stomach, both of her feet back on the ground once more. Her hands rested on Tauriel’s head in a gesture as gentle as it was possessive. She could still taste Galadriel on her lips. Tauriel might have stood, shaken off her touch with a smirk, and called it victory. But she stayed where she was, kneeling before Galadriel with her face pressed to the sheer fabric of her dress, feeling her heartbeat through her stomach like the slap of ocean waves.

“Remember this, when next you question my power,” Galadriel said softly.

There were no retorts left to her. Tauriel could only nod, her forehead sliding against Galadriel’s stomach. Slowly, the woman drew her unsteadily onto her feet. Tauriel found it difficult to meet her eyes, until Galadriel cupped a hand beneath her chin and lifted Tauriel’s gaze to her own. The woman’s eyes were soft, but Tauriel recognized the possessiveness in it—she had risen to Galadriel’s challenge, and in doing so she had given herself over.

“Will you remain in my chambers for the night?” Galadriel murmured. It was a tempting prospect, Tauriel had to admit. The bed, with its warmth and its company, was so very close already. And yet the same spark of insolence awoke inside her, and with a grin she shook her head.

“Not tonight,” she said, stooping to pick up her discarded clothes without studying Galadriel’s response. Tauriel had no doubt that she would enjoy waking up at Galadriel’s side, yet that in itself would be another concession. She would not bow so easily. If Galadriel wanted her, she would have to pursue. For Tauriel’s obedience may have been hard-won, but it rarely lasted for long.

Galadriel stopped her with a grip on Tauriel’s arm just before she stepped from the room. The woman’s eyes were bright with a hunger that almost tempted Tauriel to stay. “You will return tomorrow night,” she said.

Tauriel’s mouth twisted. “Is that an order, _my lady_?” she said with a smirk.

With a sudden yank on her arm, Galadriel hauled her forward into another bruising kiss. Tauriel’s lips parted under the tongue that came to taste them, letting herself be claimed and surprised by how much she enjoyed it. There was some relief in submission, she had to admit. That was one concession she was willing to make.

Galadriel pulled back, her fingertips tracing Tauriel’s cheek. “It is indeed,” she murmured. “Will you obey?”

Tauriel stepped back, a devious smile working its way onto her lips. “I may take some convincing.”

Without another word she turned and left, her blood singing in her veins. As she stepped from Galadriel’s apartments, the now-familiar voice spoke in her mind: _Then I will look forward to convincing you._


End file.
